Dead Like Joan
by DarkAngelSnapeLover
Summary: A cancer patient dies in an unlikly way & joins George and the gang. One-shot. R


**DEAD LIKE JOAN**

_I was dying of cancer. I lay in a bed for endless days and nights on so many medications…my world was spinning. Suddenly, a volunteer wandered into my room, and she befriended me. She talked with me, grew comfortable around me._

"I'm sorry you can't talk back or anything. You must not be having a lot of fun," George whispered. I would have nodded. "But, I have something to tell you. Your worrying days are over," she smiled, touching my hand for the first time. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought the medications were making me loopy, that the sudden dream was all from my head. Then I heard the crash. A bathtub from above me burst through the floor, landing directly on top of me, yet…I existed. I stood up from my body, from the terrible scene, and saw George lingering at the door.

"What…what just happened?" I asked.

"You're dead now. Come with me. My friends are waiting to meet you," George smirked. I ran up beside her.

"But I still look the same."

"No, you look more healthy, but since the hair was your doing, it'll grow back with time."

"But I'm dead."

"As am I. I'm a Reaper. We stay here and cross over souls. You have been chosen to be one of us, mostly since you never died in a way the world would see proper. I didn't either, if that helps you any."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember that NASA thing?" she asked. I nodded. "A toilet seat hit me in the head and killed me. My parents were probably hoping for 'a car hit her', 'some dick shot her', or something else more proper like 'suddenly some tumors exploded in her brain' or some shit like that, like how you were supposed to die. But, your number came in early, and whoever's in control of these things helped fill the time slot. Don't worry, you'll have more fun now. We can't get cancer, we can get drunk if we really want to, um…and we don't have tubes pouring out of every space available, but you can go back to that if you want to take it all back."

"I'm good," I whispered.

"I never got your name," George smiled as we walked into a café.

"Joan," I said quietly. A table of the strangest people were eyeing me carefully. That's where we were going.

"Everyone, meet Joan," George said monotonously. Quite frankly, her entire tone was monotonous.

"Hi, Joan," everyone replied. George pulled us up some chairs. A strange man then passed around sticky notes with an address and a time.

"Hate to do this on short notice, but…George, you help Joan with her first one. We're backed up today."

"First hwat?"

"When you're a Reaper like us, you help crossover souls, remember?" she asked. I nodded. "Well, because we're backed up, today's your first day, and you're special, you get to be at…932 Fourth Street in three hours with me. But first, we have to go to 87 Hope Drive. Someone will die at our locations, and it's our job to make sure it happens."

"What if I have to do my own family?" I asked.

"Highly unlikely," the man with the sticky notes replied with a smile. He then let himself out of the booth and walked out with two others.

"But that's my address!" I called out. The man stopped and walked back.

"All I can say is…you have to do it, now that I've given you the post-it, but…George will help you. For all you know, someone walking by the house dies. It's highly unlikely you'll be crossing over family."

"He's right," George whispered. "Now, I have to go, and you're coming with me."

_George's post-it was easy. A bank robbery in progress. A teller tried using the fire extinguisher to take the man's weapon, but it didn't work and sent her flying backwards into a sword beside George and me. We touched her when we 'asked to use her pen.' The next address was easy to find. I lived there for twenty years of my life before I got married, then divorced, then diagnosed with cancer. Outside the house, Mom was holding a yard sale with Aunt Becky, her older and more controlling sister. A man was standing next to one of my favorite things, a large mirror with a frame to kill for. Well, it worked. George and I touched him as we walked by, then the mirror fell on him, crushing him beneath the weight. The sad part was that I was more happy about the mirror not being broken than anything else. _

_The group accepted me, and now I roam the town with them, crossing people over and playing the game of logic: who will logically die in this situation? We bet on who guesses right or wrong, and I've actually won a few. This is my life now, as a Reaper. This is the best way to live after death, to be dead like me._


End file.
